


One Down, None To Go

by Sir_Bedevere



Series: Dragonstone Days [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:24:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your grace, I heard a noise. Are-”</p>
<p>He stopped dead and stared in surprise. King Stannis was on his knees picking up a pile of books that had fallen, but Devan was looking at the more unusual sight; a jug of wine, almost empty, sat on the table, an upturned goblet besides it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Down, None To Go

He came across him one sleepless night at Dragonstone, and promised never to tell another soul what he had seen. And he didn’t, until so many years later when the memory was so distant that he couldn’t be entirely sure it wasn’t a dream.

Since Father hadn’t come from Blackwater, Devan had moved out of the rooms he shared with him and into a shared chamber with Bryen. Being the room especially for the squires, it was closer to his lord’s own, or Devan might never have heard the crash that sent him investigating. He was sat in bed, a single candle burning as he read a book the princess had lent him, Bryen’s soft breathing the only sound.

He thought he heard some footsteps go past earlier in the evening, but all had been quiet for a long time and he believed he might have imagined them. Then the crash sounded throughout the tower, a chair falling perhaps, and he leaped from his bed. Bryen slept on and so he padded as lightly as he could from the room and up the stairs, stopping at the king’s door. He was in no doubt the noise came from here.

He hovered outside, unsure of what to do, until he heard his lord swear. He never swore. Something was wrong. Before his courage failed him, Devan knocked and slipped inside.

“Your grace, I heard a noise. Are-”

He stopped dead and stared in surprise. King Stannis was on his knees picking up a pile of books that had fallen, but Devan was looking at the more unusual sight; a jug of wine, almost empty, sat on the table, an upturned goblet besides it.

“Only the books, boy,” Stannis growled, getting rather unsteadily to his feet, “Go back to bed. I have no need of you here.”

Devan would almost have believed him, if not for the bright red of his face or the slurred nature of his speech. He knew a drunk person when he saw one – Dale and Allard used to indulge sometimes – and he knew how they could not be relied upon to look after themselves afterwards. Mother had always rolled her eyes and said that boys would be boys, but the king was much older than them and he never ever drank anything except water.

“Your grace,” he said, “Please let me help you.”

Stannis stared at him, hand resting on the back of the chair to keep from swaying. It was a hard stare, but no worse than Devan was used to from him, and he returned it easily. Eventually his king looked away.

“Fine. I am going to bed. Help me.”

This was something Devan knew, a task he performed every day. He went through to the bed chamber and laid out the sleeping clothes, and took the hot brick from the fire to put between the sheets. Stannis followed him a moment or two later, fumbling with his clothes as he swayed on the spot. His long fingers, usually so sure of themselves, were shaking, and Devan had to help with buckles and buttons more than he was usually permitted. It made him proud, in a way, that he was trusted enough to do this, when there were so few people his lord ever allowed near him.

Once dressed, Stannis fell into bed and Devan went out, bringing back a large goblet of water. Stannis eyed him suspiciously.

“What’s that?”

“Water, your grace, that you should drink. My mother always used to say it helps with the - with the –”

“I understand you, boy,” he said, taking the water and downing it in one gulp, a little stream running down from the corner of his mouth that he wiped away with the back of his hand. Devan smiled, because Edric did that too and for just a moment the king looked like his nephew. Stannis wasn’t smiling though.

“I would prefer no one heard of this, so hold your tongue. This is – a moment of –”

“I understand,” Devan echoed.

He turned to leave and was stopped by a hand on his arm.

“How are you faring?” Stannis said awkwardly, “I realise I have not spoken to you of... Do you miss your father? Your brothers?”

“Every day, my king.”

If he blinked he would have missed it but Devan caught it, a flash of pain in his lord’s eyes, an intense wave that crashed and then was gone.

“I miss your father’s council,” he said thickly, “I am sorry we both must be without him. It was not what I intended.”

“I know, your grace,” Devan said, “I will go now, so you can sleep. Unless you require anything else?”

“No boy, you may go,” the king said, as Devan blew out the candle and crept from the room, “Thank you.”


End file.
